


Ceasefire.

by warringroses



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 15:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14500254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warringroses/pseuds/warringroses
Summary: One shot from an anon;John has flash backs about his past and the Deputy (gender not specified) intervenes. Takes place before the scene where John explains their past to the Deputy. My first attempt at writing! Sorry if this bores you to tears!





	Ceasefire.

Cast in a silvery glow, Holland Valley was lit in an ethereal night time beauty. As the moon cast dark tendrils onto the Deputy’s face from the shadows of the branches around them, they crouched amongst the thick forest, eyes locked on the shallow river running smoothly before them. A sniper loaded and ready in their hands. These moonlit waters, sparkling with the peaceful silver light of the overseer in the sky would soon be tainted a watery crimson. Streams of life essence would flow in thick veins with the current, tainting and staining the waters before then fading into nothing…if the rumours turned out to be true.

As their new mission of rescuing their team and aiding the resistance took them around Holland Valley, the Deputy had heard from numerous people living in Falls End that tonight there would be a river convoy from Faith’s region at this very location; joined by cultists from Holland Valley to deliver Bliss so that it may be transported to Henbane River, most likely to aid Faith in what ever plans she had over there. Therefore, this was not an opportunity that the Deputy felt they could miss. After all, what a better way to enrage Eden’s Gate than to piss off two heralds at the same time? It was not exactly killing two birds with one stone, but at the very least it would ruffle their feathers, letting them know that the Deputy is the predator, the cultists are their prey, and they are always watching.

So, the Deputy waits silently and patiently, every so often eyeing the crumpled map on the ground to double check they had the right location. Although feeling calm, satisfied that this was the place, something kept niggling at the Deputy’s conscience, like a presence was standing over them ever watching, assessing and judging. They could not deny that their first contact with the Seeds in the church all those weeks back still left a lasting impression on the Deputy and now being at the top of their wanted list, it was difficult not to think of them from time to time. Difficult not to be intimated, cautious and worriedly wondering about their own future. These people were explosive. Unpredictable. But quickly shutting those thoughts out of their mind, they decided to ignore that pressing feeling. They had a job to do and they would ensure it was executed perfectly. They would not let the Seeds possess their mind. Would not let the Seeds cost the Deputy victory.

Snap.

The sudden sound in the quiet made the Deputy jump slightly before freezing on the spot, hands instinctively tightening round the sniper as their eyes dart around their dark surroundings. It was too close. Far too close for their liking and backing further into the foliage that granted them cover, slowly, not wanting to give away their position, the Deputy looks over their shoulder. “Shit. Shit, shit”. The Deputy couldn’t see anything. But they could hear heavy, laboured breathing and the Deputy’s hairs stood on end.

Holding their breath, looking down the sight of the sniper, they flex their finger against the trigger, ready to shoot if the moment came, when suddenly a dark figure filled the sight, twigs snapping under their feet as they moved rather erratically towards the river - as if running from something. Feeling themselves paralyse on the spot, the source of the sound only meters away, the Deputy’s breath hitches, eyes widening slightly. This didn’t feel right. The Deputy thought the citizens of Falls End had told them that a large group would be here…but there was only one person, visibly shaken, and there was no sign of bliss to be seen. But, a cultist was a cultist. They wouldn’t be out here at this time of night without a malignant purpose and so letting the figure move ahead, the Deputy silently followed in their wake, darting from to bush to bush, finding the best place to shoot and then leave the site as if they had never been here. When the figure stopped upon entering the river, the Deputy took aim.

And the figure screamed in agony.

“Wa- wait! No. No! Please, I did nothing wrong, I swear it, please! If I made you angry I am so so sorry!” Hands thrash through the water as he, it was a he the Deputy found, roared to the heavens. “I swear I did everything you asked of me. No, no! On God’s word I swear it. I’ve done nothing wrong, please!”

The Deputy had not fired. They had not even been seen as the man’s back was to them, but his words cut deeply into the Deputy and watching him appear to fight something imaginary, that raw emotion tugs at their heart stings and without thinking they rise to their feet, lowering their sniper to rest by their side. They may be a hater of cultists, the Hell that followed the WhiteHorse, but they were a bringer of justice. And they’d think themselves damned (ironically) if they didn’t help someone in need. So silently straightening up, holding their sniper firmly in their right hand they move towards the figure in the water as he seemingly battled with himself - screaming the word “No” over and over and over. The sheer sound of it made the Deputy’s skin go cold. It was so full of…pain.

“Father, no…please”.

These words made the Deputy stop in her tracks and looking at the figure more acutely when the clouds part from the moon, the man’s features and the man’s clothes suddenly snap into place in the Deputy’s mind. Their skin now went cold for an entirely different reason and that niggling feeling resurfaced. Why did they never trust their instincts? The Deputy tried to not grimace as they part their mouth to say one word.

“John?”

All at once, the figure before them stilled, as if he had become death itself and the Deputy’s heart rate quickened as their slender fingers tighten their grip on the sniper by their side. Like some invisible force had washed through the Deputy, they feel a sickening jolt of fear rake its way through their body as the glazed over eyes of John, John the Baptist, Herald of Holland Valley, meet their own. Through thrashing in the water, his shirt clung close to his body, accentuating every toned muscle and his hair was ruffled and out of place, sprinkled with droplets that glinted in the moonlight. Ethereal. But those eyes. Those cold, piercing blue eyes strike the fear of God into the Deputy’s body and clenching their jaw, not letting any emotion give away their mixed awe and fear they keep their gaze fixed on his face like a deer in the headlights, trying not to think too much on the sight before them. The only word the Deputy could muster when taking in his tear stained cheeks is “John?”

It was the wrong thing to do.

In a movement quicker than the Deputy thought was possible, John launches themselves at the Deputy, their hands gripping like a vice round their neck as the sniper flew from the Deputy as a result of the impact. The raw strength of John throws them both to the ground and all the air from the Deputy’s lungs is pushed from them causing them to gasp hoarsely, mouth parted in shock as those hands began to squeeze with rising, fatal intent. Survival instinct kicking in, the Deputy writhes against his touch, desperately trying to stop the increasing pressure round their neck. They try to kick and punch (aiming for places it was guaranteed to hurt) but it was to no avail. The only thing it did do was make their own clothes wet and soaked as their own body was pressed more greatly against John’s; his skin wetting there’s, hot breaths mingling with one another as the Deputy’s attempts to free themselves brought them closer to John’s face.

He was strong. Stronger than the Deputy could have imagined but locked in his grip, his body on top of theirs, the Deputy had no choice but to stare into the unrelenting eyes of John, only inches away from their face as they struggle to breathe. They hear the occasional grunt escape John’s throat as if its difficult to keep the Deputy on the ground and their mind races as they try to think of getting out of John’s grip and nothing else. There had to be a way to break free. They would not, could not, die like this.

“Why is it, that you never said yes!?” he seethed with a strange undertone of desperation. “That was all I ever asked from you and you denied me it. Always. Always without fail when you could see, see with your own eyes how I was suffering!” his grip tightened as his voice became ever more vicious. “You made me into a Martyr, but what kind of Martyr am I when this wrath courses through my veins. When this hatred I feel for you, my giver of life, is like that of wrath.”

The words flew over the Deputy’s head, the only thing registering being the feeling of pressure increase around their throat once again, making the Deputy to start to struggle more violently, chocking as their face reddens, their mouth desperately trying to gasp even the tiniest of breaths into their lungs. But with John’s hands round their neck it was a nearly impossible task and feeling their throat burn with pain, the Deputy lets out a, closed, strained cry, there body clenching and shaking violently from the action of it.

This was not good. Not good at all. And as their vision begins to blur more aggressively, the Deputy’s panic shoots up – they were desperately running out of time. But despite John’s grip tightening round their throat, his body pressed again at theirs, the Deputy’s muffled sounds of pain accompanied by John’s grunting, there was something else wrong with the whole situation. Something wrong since the very moment John walked by them and clawing at his hands to try and gulp down a breath it then became clear when the Deputy’s eyes focused in on John’s as their face neared his once more. His face was the image, of fury, rage, pain and longing. But those eyes…

John wasn’t seeing the Deputy.

He was looking straight through them. But with such intensity and emotion in their eyes that whoever they were seeing, they must’ve had a long and complicated relationship with, that far surpassed the relationship between the Deputy and John in these few weeks. So, blinking rapidly, the Deputy thought over what to do with this realisation as their chest lifts involuntarily, pressing them into John again.

“Did you even stop. Or think to ask what little thing I wanted you to say yes too?” He laughs darkly. “I wanted something so so very simple…I wanted you to love me. To say yes to loving me. To be there for me and my ambitions and dreams when you so clearly weren’t.”John’s hands now pressed onto the Deputy’s neck with such a force that for a moment they see nothing but black. Their senses gone from existence. It was only when they were shaken back into consciousness that they knew this was their last chance to survive. So with this knowledge the Deputy decided on doing something wild and brought their lips to his forehead, letting them linger there as they choke out to their enemy: “You are loved, John”.

The Deputy hears a shocked intake of breath come from John, his hands relaxing momentarily on the Deputy’s neck but it is long enough for the Deputy to curl their arms round his neck and bring their head to rest against John’s as they gulp down the air that for so long they had been deprived. Letting their heart beat steady, the Deputy pauses a moment, collecting themselves before carrying on - knowing for definite now that they had John’s utmost attention. “You… have Joseph, you have Jacob, Faith, numerous, devoted, cultists” the Deputy stressed, strength slowly coming back to their voice now that their airways were opened although his hands were still planted on their neck. “You are loved, John. And for those who did not love you? Let them go about their business or let them fade to ash. When - if, you are ever ready to face them again, let those ashes turn into a phoenix, shining light where the darkness haunts you. But let its strength, its fire not let you give into temptation through hollow words and broken promises. Move forwards. Move, forwards. But most importantly see the love in yourself as you do. You are much more capable than many other people at sharing this gift .”

There was a long pause.

A silence from John that made the Deputy’s heart falter with sadness and guilt as they knew those words had only been spoken to save their life… or so they kept telling themselves. But finally, they feel the surprisingly gentle hands of John bring the Deputy up to a sitting position, their body freed from being pinned down by his and John looks directly to the face of the deputy – that glazed expression now none existent and instead replaced with…clarity. The Deputy remained silent, weirdly at ease with looking to the face of their sworn, powerful enemy and their fingers twitch slightly when feeling his breath brush against their face.

“Normally, hmmm, I’d love to have someone pinned under me, my hands at their throat utterly at my mercy… especially a sinner of your infuriating calibre, Deputy.“ That signature smirk of his etched upon his face and the Deputy realised in that moment that the John they knew, was back in fashion. But keeping their face neutral, the Deputy continues to listen. “But, people rarely survive when I’m like…that” he said distantly as if rather ashamed of the spectacle he’d just displayed to the Deputy and staggeringly fast, that smugness that lightened his features darkened back into sorrow - his eyes large, almost reminiscent of a child’s. “But you…you stopped my father, Deputy. You stopped my father.” Voice breaking, his head falls to rest on the Deputy’s shoulder as hot tears seeped into the Deputy’s shirt. The world around them suddenly feeling cruel and harsh in the silver moonlight.

Wrapped in a multitude of emotions the Deputy couldn’t really grasp anything of what John was referring to but placing a hand on the back of his neck, the Deputy brings John closer to them as they hold him in a gentle but warm embrace. Feeling John’s skin at the tip of their fingers, the Deputy lightly traces their face and neck, parting their lips to whisper: “And normally, I’d love to stop every crazy cultist in this damned place, including you Heralds most of all.” The Deputy offered a slight smile looking down to John and found his eyes light slightly at the prospect of Cat and Mouse. “ But tonight… there will be no violence between us tonight. Ceasefire? ” And with that the Deputy and John, fall into a comfortable silence. The image of tranquillity in a world being torn apart.


End file.
